


Untitled (for now)

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [40]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:04:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Illya is once again in the hands of Thrush.





	Untitled (for now)

Once again, Illya found himself strapped to a hard metal chair. Another mad Thrushie had been raving at him for several extremely long minutes. This kind of thing was becoming far too regular for his liking, almost routine in fact, and he briefly wondered why Napoleon managed to avoid so often. Not that the American hadn’t been on the receiving end of a fair few interrogations; it just felt to Illya like he got the lion’s share. As was usual in these situations, the man who had him prisoner was waxing lyrical about how Thrush Central was going to lavish him with rewards for handing the Russian to them; dead or alive. Illya had heard the same sentiments expressed many times, so allowed his mind to wander.

His current captor was a large man who had a mane unkempt red hair, with a matching bushy beard. He reminded Illya strongly of a man from his childhood, called Stoyan, who had lived in his village. He and his friends used to call him ‘Chudovishche’ (Monster), because he was six foot five, and because of the way he would roar at them if they went too near. A slight smile appeared on his face as he remembered the time he had been dared by the others to enter Stoyan’s workshop, and had been caught. The giant had grabbed hold of Illya’s jacket with his enormous hand, and carried him to his mother. The beating he’d received from his Mama had left him with a sore backside for the rest of the day, but it had been a small price to pay to win the admiration of his friends. A sudden sharp slap to his left cheek brought Illya back to the present.

“Are you even listening to me?” the Thrushie demanded; somewhat put out by the lack of reaction to his threats.

“Forgive me,” Illya replied. “I was remembering someone from long ago, who you look very much like. Of course, the difference between you and he is that I was afraid of him.”

“I have just threatened to torture you with an overdose of water. . .”

“An overdose of water?” Illya cut in. “Is that your way of saying you were going to drown me?”

He was rewarded with another slap, which was far harder than the last one, and he soon tasted the tang of blood from a slip lip.

“You won’t be so flippant after I’ve forced a hose into your gullet and filled you with water,” the Thrush snarled. “It will go from uncomfortable to lethal fairly quickly, unless you agree to answer my questions.”

Illya couldn’t deny that it would be an unpleasant way to die but, as he pondered his response, his tormenter drop to the floor, with a dart in his neck.

“Could you not have done that sooner?” Illya asked, glancing around in an effort to see where his partner was secreted.

“I just got here,” came a voice from above him. “Although, I was in time to hear how gruesome your future was about to be.”

It took no time at all for Napoleon to remove the grill of the air duct, and drop into the room. 

“I could always go away again,” he said, as he began to free his partner.

“Believe me, my friend, I am very grateful for your arrival,” Illya told him, with genuine relief. “The torture he had planned for me was quite possibly preferable to listening to him gloat and intimidate.”

“Come on then, Tovarisch,” Napoleon prompted, as soon as Illya was free. “Let’s finish the job and go home.”

Just over two hours later, the Thrushie, who Illya had learned was called Angus MacBay, woke up in an U.N.C.L.E. cell. Although he was still feeling the effects of the sleep dart, he quickly came to full wakefulness when he saw the man who had been his prisoner.

Illya’s smile was almost predatory as he stood on the other side of the bars, with a hose in his hand.


End file.
